[Verse 1]

All my music sounds like middle-class white-boy hip-hop

The chorus to this song won’t sound as genuine as it was thought

It won’t rock you, not like it wants to

God knows the last 4 years of constant sloppy vocal takes

Hasn’t fostered any progress in my aptitude

This beat, is not on beat

The synthesized sounds from a Yamaha keyboard

Will never produce anything more

Than a kick-snare pattern with some frickin’ cheap chords

And even now, I’m trying not to stammer over every word

On my left, I see a kid doing acoustic cover songs

On my right, I see a kid hitting sampler pads like it’s his job

Straight on, I see the same basement bastardy

That I’ve seen since I was seventeen

The same set of Dell speakers that hiss at +10 dB

I’m sorry, give my gratitude for what I have but dude

When your emotions want out and their only translator

Is these cheap binary signals, you feel a little trapped

When I hit play, all I hear amplified is vain calls for adoration

There is nothing new under my own creation

Memories of past shows are nauseating

Lengths I drove to play a couple songs, I hate it

Which is more debasing: not being known locally after 4 years or being 20 years old and caring about your music’s download count?

None of my work sounds polished

I talk off beat because I can’t rap on it

How come everyone else seems so flawless?

Like they can’t possibly slip and I’m just a wannabe kid

Who makes middle-class white-boy hip-hop

Don’t tell me to keep grinding unless you’re also going to define it

If two albums, a mixtape, and Youtube videos fits in with “grindin'”

You’re going to have to find another word to give advice with

Cause I’m still trying

I’m still writhing for a door to stick my thigh in

And I’m still writing a genre of music with too many hyphens

Middle-class white-boy hip-hop

[Hook]

(I have had enough) When your own personality fights against your current definition of success

(I have had enough) When you can see your potential self, but only as capable as your flesh

(I have had enough) When every person you call a friend bears the mark of your offense, they forgive but don’t forget

(I have had enough) When you don’t speak the native love language of the country you were born in, so it reflects you with contempt

(I have had enough)

[Verse 2]

And I’m aware of all of it

Just like I’m trapped in a genre of plastic music

I’m trapped in a body that refuses

To learn the love language of America

To know friendliness the way a dictionary does

I’m talking years of dumb watching people talk

Watching, as peas find pods so naturally

They make it look so easy, Mom!

How’d I get to be this keyless vault indifferent to being robbed?

Why do I deliberate over every trivial thought?

I would love to answer these questions if I could

But I hardly know how to answer “How are you?” with anything more than “Good.”

I leave conversations as stagnant as my music business

Please accept this stupid grimace

It’s the best I can do when given

This enthusiasm-drained body that uses

Forced laughter as a Morse code to signal welcome

Why’s my output so held up?

Had you seen the blank stares, gaping mouths wide

Lowered eyebrows, neither would you think these words had a place outside

I’m so worn out by the edgy, over-polite

Style of speech that I’m always met with

I’m sorry I don’t know how to warm my complexion

To these ice-breaking questions

I do not have the same skills you were blessed with

I’m so aware of it

I’ve hung out with some of the nicest pretenses you could ever meet

Somehow everyone’s just friend of a friend to me

The ghost of Cringes Past looks the same as Present, and Yet to Come

You’d think incompetence would die of old age but it never does

I'm so aware that the only thing I have confidence in is that

I’m the only flawed conversationalist on Earth

But I swear I have a sense of humor

I’m not loose, nor was common sense inherited

I’m so painfully aware of it

It’s not hard to tell you’re ranked last when you’ve got

A thousand names on your back and you’re standing on the shoulders of ants

I’m so aware of every interaction I’ve ever slipped in

You’re better with kids

I’m either a dumb tortoise or a slow hare

I’m so aware and…

[Hook]

[Verse 3]

You ever find yourself plagued by parallels?

Painted like every piece of nature is spelled and made into

A perfect constellation to remind you that you still suck?

Hope decays further into endurance the more you say your day will come

This summer, I’ll be wrapping sandwiches, changing garbages, and having my flaws highlighted

For the third year, I will spend three months debating if things like proactivity and assertiveness

Are either being ignored or sleeping in a fairytale fortress

We get trained up in the way we guess we should go

And when we finish high school, we can’t depart from it

Our parents teach us each the only dialect of English we know

And that defines how we are known, how we correspond

With everything within the reaches of our globe

We’re all just one step slower than our ideal

And we suffer the recurring wrist slaps

A little more diligent

A little more considerate

Could I actually tackle my shortcomings or would I remain

Embarrassed of everything I parent

Ignorant to all my interests?

I don’t actually have that much depression, guys

I just have a lot of dreams and a restless mind

I can’t handle being one step behind

Sometimes you gotta lay it all down at the feet of the condenser mic

It gets you like:

[Outro]

I have had enough